Two Souls
by Belladonna
Summary: Part Two now up, Please review,don't be shy;)What if the soul remains trapped within the body, watching helplessly how another does unspeakable things by using it. But is it always somebody else to blame?Please read and review, means a l
1. Part One: Angelus-Broken

_Disclaimer_: This story is a work of fan-fiction. All used characters don't belong to me and I just borrowed them. The only profit I hope to achieve with this story is the pure pleasure of the reader.

_Author's notes: What if one's soul would not ascend to heaven once the body dies but remains trapped, held prisoner? When it has to watch helplessly how someone else does things that it cannot understand or comprehend. But it is truly always somebody else to blame for them?  The story contains description of violence cruelty, so consider yourself warned. Special thanks to my friend Kiva for beta-testing and encouraging me to write more, luv ya sweetie._

_Feedback and Distribution: Please I love feedback, I live of feedback, so let me know what you think of this one, whether you loved it or hated or even wanted it for your own site. Just let me know, so mail me at LadySet@gmx.net_

_Two Souls_

_by__ Belladonna_

_"Two souls, alas, are housed within my breast."_

_Goethe, Faust_

_Part One_

_Angelus – Broken_

For my whole life I have found pleasure in causing other people pain, in torturing them as long as I can remember. I have reveled in their pain and enjoyed to confuse their thoughts, cloud them with false hopes and crush their all too fragile souls under the soles of my feet o within my bare hands to please and fulfill my own desires. I found immense joy and triumph to watch their sane consciousness shrivel, to watch them crawling closer towards madness, closer until it would embrace them and finally devour them wholly.

All my knowledge and power, all my finest skills have I used to never become again that pitiful and pathetic creature I had been during life and all I've done, I did to let them suffer, to let all those puny humans suffer for how my own life had treated me. I have learned real quick, just what I had to do, to shape those weak minds to my own imagination, to influence them and to finally bring them down on their knees.

And what a real fast learner I had been; a bright student in the art of creating such immense dark beauty, so that I soon surpassed my own teacher and became the master myself.

Oh, and how easy had it always been for me, humans are so simple in their minds, their thoughts; it is so easy to lead them towards the abyss, the depths of their own souls, to shove them down inside with such little effort and let them dangle over the threshold, only to let them fall finally down into the darkness with a smile, waving after them as they go down.

Who would have thought that a human would be so easy to be broken? In fact, you don't even have to add much to it, not much to do to cause them to break. It does not take more than a little push that causes them to stagger towards that threshold, where they finally stumble and go down. Who would have thought it to be that simple?

Humans are so small and weak, the sight of death scares them but what is even sweeter to watch are their own faces when they look into death's own.

When they come back into their homes, smiling happily and filled with joy and contentment, because they have everything they ever wished for and smell the sweet scent of roses, standing on the table and soaked in the perfume of their lover or simply in thee rose's own natural beauty, they don't know what will await them, yet. They don't have the slightest touch of what will await them further, because they are still in their own houses, their homes and they know who will await them upstairs, waiting for them. 

But can they be always so sure?

Those poor pathetic creatures don't know that death already had entered their sacred homes to dance on their tables, because in the bedroom she waits for them, and she does it with a smile on her lips; like only sleep had taken away those who had been so close to their hearts. And as always, when they come closer, I can smell their expectations, their joy but also their confusion, which slowly but steadily mingles with a little fear. Because for sleepers, they beloved ones are a little too pale and completely too motionless. Only when man comes even closer he realizes, though it is already too late, that death had collected all those that were close to him and that meant so much; when he holds the dead and bloodless bodies in his arms, cradling them to his chest as if he could bring them back to life that way.

A futile effort he does not realize at first.

In all his sorrow, desperation and anger, as his bitter suspicions are confirmed with the even harsher realization crashing down on him, he screams out all his pain, screaming all his loss and fury towards heaven but those screams will fade away unheard. Nobody besides me will hear them and it is the loveliest music I have ever heard; smiling at the sight that unfolds before me. I smile of pleasure, joy and triumph, pure ecstasy rushing through me because I please myself in having created another piece of art, another true masterpiece that seeks its equal.

I am still smiling, now that I hold them above the abyss and see their pain within their eyes, but also their hatred and it pleases me even more. But it is not them, what arouses me the most is the faint smell of fear they emanate and that grows to the sweetest scent I have ever tasted, now that they finally and truly look death in the eyes, their death. I can feel how madness stretches out its tendrils, grasping towards them with its cold black hands and my arousal grows stronger than I could be able to describe. I bathe myself in their pain, feast on their fury and gloat over their tortures before in the end I let them go, looking after them how they fall.

It is much simpler than one would think to bring one that far, bring man to reach that abyss and watch him be crushed, his whole being and soul slowly being crushed at the sight of his dead families; how at looking at his murdered children, who look so peaceful in death, almost like they would only be sleeping, his sane mind stumbles towards the threshold of madness. Ah, yes, the children, the sweet and lovely children. Such eternal peace in which they lay down in their beds, as if they truly would be sleeping with their eyes closed; but would you open them, so could you see the terror lying within them, that had been the last thing they should ever see and felt in those moments that were the last ones of their little lives before I took it away from them. They've tasted the sweetest, they always do. But those pathetic creatures that call themselves mankind will never see that, at least not at first. Otherwise they would shatter too soon and wrench the pleasure out of my hands to show them this wonderful artwork myself, that I created especially for them and to be the one who gives their delicate souls the last push, the one that lets them crumble down and shatter in thousand little pieces, like glass falling down on the floor. So silent but yet so melodic in its sound.

It would rob me of that fulfilling joy to truly taste this to its full extent if they would realize it too early.

It is really easy to break a human, break man for his soul is so delicate, such a fragile thing; so easy to bring them so far over the borderline deep into madness before ending it…or not. 

I would have never thought it possible. But the same time I would have never thought it possible to be brought to my knees myself, by the one thing I had never considered a threat to me or to which I would have never shed a single tear if I'd lost it forever. The one thing I always thought too weak to accomplish anything but endless entertainment for me in using and abusing it. The one thing, I have kept for my own personal entertainment, to please me for eternity. It should have been my final masterpiece, the one true masterpiece I would ever create, so small and unimportant, like glass shattering in my hand if I'd applied too much pressure to it. 

But yet it was this seemingly unimportant and fragile thing that had managed it all. 

I had been a master in breaking other people, crushing their minds and breaking them body and soul; to cause their souls to shatter in a million pieces to never be healed again. Now it had been exactly that very thing that managed to do to me what thousands before had tried and failed.

I was forced onto my knees, brought down and broken so that I now am only a mere shadow of myself, of what I used to be. And I cannot understand it, cannot manage to grasp what happened and why it had happened the way it did. And still, as easy as it had been for me to break others, to break those all too fragile humans, that easy had it been to break me in the end. Broken by the one thing I have always considered too fragile and delicate to do any harm, the human soul.

My own soul.


	2. Part Two: Angel-Free

_Disclaimer and notes: See Part One_

_Feedback: Yes, please, I love feedback. Loved it? Hated it? Or want it for your own site? Please let me know at LadySet@gmx.net_

And now, on to the second part, I hope you'll enjoy it. Again big thanks for my wonderful friend Kiva for doing beta-testing and encouraging me to post this one. Also thank you Kylie, my one and only review for this one so far. I am so glad you liked the story and hopefully still will. All others, don't be shy, please let me know what you think of this one. I don't bite ;)

_Two Souls_

_by__ Belladonna_

_"Two souls, alas, are housed within my breast."_

_Goethe, Faust_

__

_Part Two_

_Angel – Free_

 My whole life I have felt like a prisoner. Had it been when I was still alive, as a prisoner of my class in society and the bindings that this time I lived in wrought upon me or later the circumstances of my life, if one could really call that still living.

I have never been able to fight it, to overcome it. Always had I been too weak to be able to manage even the slightest action against it. But is that really the truth? Could I really never fought all that was forced upon me or had it only been convenient to simply put my hands into my lap and do nothing? 

I have never been too weak to fight al those things that bound my mind and soul in chains, for I have never really tried. That had it been what for I had been really too weak and it is that weakness that had kept me prisoner for my whole life, down on the ground and in the darkness.

If I now look back, it might have been those continued constraints, all the pressure that had caused me to become a good-for-nothing, a real shame for my family and someone who spent his days in the pubs, drinking like there would be no tomorrow and sleeping with everything willing to spread her legs. I probably really would have died of some disease back then, maybe it would have been better if I had. So many things wouldn't have happened. It had been all those social constraints that had caused me to become that worthless piece of shit I had been, at least that is it that I am always able to tell myself.

It is so easy to put the blame on somebody else if you don't want to have it yourself, to deal with it by yourself or cannot bear it any longer. Yes, how easy is it indeed to blame others for your actions and let them suffer for things you have done yourself or have endured.

But for yourself you have nobody else you could blame. 

There is nobody you can put the blame on for being yourself.

It is strange how you really start to think about everything, all your life and things you've done once it is already too late; too late for everything that you might do to change it or make it undone.

Oh, I still have him to blame for these things, for it had been him who'd done all that. All those things, the cruelties and killings, all the slaughter and madness he'd caused are things he had done. All those innocents that are pleading towards me in my dreams and whose eyes I can see, begging for mercy every time I close mine, they all are on his account, and their shed blood is on his hands.

It is so simple, so easy, isn't it? And again you can shove all those unpleasant things towards somebody else so that you won't have to deal with them, your own soul is pure that way. It is so easy to say that you have nothing to do with anything that had happened and keep yourself out of it, telling this to yourself and keeping yourself, your conscience clean.

But how can you do that with a lie?

I have seen everything he had done, and I was unable to do anything against it. I had been too weak to fight him. I have seen everything he'd done, like through a veil have I watched him doing things, seen him commit atrocities and other abominable actions, I cannot understand or comprehend, that have terrified me and disgusted me beyond anything I had ever seen. And I had been helpless against it, could do nothing to prevent him from doing them, for I had been a prisoner, bound by invisible chains only to his own passion, his own perverse pleasure, only to torture me for eternity. 

Even this is still not the whole truth, and even this half-lie cannot manage to relieve my conscience or clean it.

It would be so easy to put myself into the position of another of his victims. But that also would not be the truth.

True, I had been too weak to fight him, the demon that had inhabited my body and still is within me; the demon that had taken over my body and used it, abused it to commit atrocious crimes I could not imagine or speak of. But like in life, it had been my own weakness, my own cowardice that kept me from fighting him. I was unable to do anything against him, couldn't stop him, but even here I have to admit that I didn't even try. My own cowardice kept me from doing that and left him to do as he pleased, let him reign over my body and mind, my very being, my soul; to do what he wanted to do and did and he had reveled in every second of it. 

It is really simple, easy to say that it had been him who did all those things, those crimes, slaughter and killing, but when I face the harsh and cruel truth, it had been me who had done them all, by simply letting him do it.

Now I might be fee, my soul be finally free of the prison in which he and that way I myself had put me in. The chains might have fallen off, but they are holding me still. The blood of the innocents, it does not stick on his hands but more on my own that I have watched doing the killings he did. I myself am it, who still is hearing those screams in his dreams, all those pleas for mercy I know he never granted them; also never to me. 

For I have never granted it to myself.

My soul might be free now, freed from the prison it had been put in, but truly free is something I will never be, never can be. He will always remain with me and remind me of all the things he did. For they are things, that I have done, with a smile on my lips; things I would rather forget but never could or should.

My own soul had it been, that had freed me from him, I know that now. But what is pressing harder down on me, is the fact that it had been that same soul that had kept me in that prison of my own weakness and allowed him to roam free.

I might be free now, but truly free I will never be. 

Because of myself I cannot free me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Should I continue exploring the viewpoint of the two 'souls' inside of Angel and continue the character study of him? Please let me know, 'cause I'm not sure. Also let me know how you liked it, don't be shy, I don't bite, really I don't.~Bella.


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